


Far Away We Come Together

by bees_stories



Series: The New Team Torchwood Adventures [9]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: A New Team Torchwood adventure, AU, Complete, Post Series 2, Survival, Torture, kidnap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kidnapped and dumped on an alien world, Jack is captured and taken away whilst Ianto, Felicity, and Stuart watch helplessly. Pursued by the authorities, they've got to rely on their wits and courage to find their Captain and a way home. </p><p>Contains series consistent levels of violence and drama, character death, and depictions of the sorts of hardships associated with being dumped into a hostile environment.</p><p>Beta by McParrot, with thanks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

***

"Tell me your name."

Jack stared at the tall, tattooed alien with contempt. He folded his arms over his chest, suppressing the urge to wince when he touched his battered ribcage. The beating he'd sustained when he had been captured had been expertly rendered, severe enough to let him know exactly who was in charge, but not so severe that his injuries would leave him unable to stand up to interrogation. "Why? You didn't like the answer I gave you the last ten times you asked me."

He flinched against the sting of a sonic whip cutting into his cheek. He closed his eyes against the pain long enough to catch his breath and then regarded the alien again. From a purely professional standpoint he had to admire his captor's skill. He hadn't even seen the being's arm rise before the blow was struck. 

"Insolent beast. You will answer my question truthfully or my whip will sting again."

A drop of blood hit the table and was joined by a rapid succession of others. Jack raised his fingers involuntarily, unsurprised to find it was his. His cheek throbbed in time with his pulse. He forced himself to take a calming breath and smiled nonchalantly back as if the whip strike wasn't worth noticing.

His host was unimpressed. The whip sang again. It sliced into his other cheek leaving fire in its wake. A second rivulet of blood joined the first. "Was that really necessary?" he asked, keeping up his display of bravado. "I've answered your question. Repeatedly. My name is Captain Jack Harkness. It was the first time you asked me, and it's not going to change any time soon."

His inquisitor raised the whip but before it could strike or the interrogation could resume there was a thump on the cell door. The alien scowled and it did nothing to help its appearance. It wasn't particularly attractive to begin with. The grey-green hide of its face and arms were covered with welted scar tissue. It had small sharp eyes that were set in sockets that suggested its normal method of viewing the world was with contempt. The set of its mouth, lips drawn back in a nearly perpetual sneer, betrayed its owner's inherent cruelty. The tattoo of conjoined circles that ran along its cheeks and down onto its neck disappeared under the leather jerkin and reappeared to trail all the way down its biceps. Jack had seen the circles on others and heard a guard pointing and bragging about his latest acquisition as he was dragged to the interrogation room. Each circle represented a kill. 

They spoke in a series of grunting whispers that was punctuated with a roar of irritation from his host. Jack breathed a tentative sigh of relief. It seemed his team, at least for the moment, was still safe and at large. He needed to buy them time. Time to figure out just how they'd ended up on this hostile planet. Time to figure out how to get home. 

There was cold fury in the alien's eyes when the door slammed shut behind the messenger. "What is your name?"

"Jack Harkness." 

"Wrong answer. What is your name?"

"Jack – "

The alien leaned over and shoved the table out of its way. It kicked over the bench Jack sat on next, leaving him sprawled and helpless on the floor. The whip rose. The whip fell. This time Jack couldn't restrain his cries of agony as the blows rained down.

***

Ianto raised his hand to his lips, shushing the others. They sheltered between the stones of a broken wall, shrinking against its protective bulk. His breath caught in his throat as a light was cast in their direction, and without thinking he shrunk even further backward. He could feel Stuart's harsh exhalation against his ear and heard Felicity's quiet soothing as if in reply as he closed his eyes and willed them all to a state of invisibility.

It seemed an eternity, but eventually the searchers moved on. When the last of their lights faded Ianto finally allowed himself to exhale. "Come on. Let's double back to that crevice in the rock face. We can rest and take stock." 

They retreated, moving through the shadows of a nearly moonless night. They were far from home, transported not by the Rift but some unknown alien machination. They had few resources between them. At some point they had been disarmed and Felicity had been relieved of her medical kit. He doubted the few odds and ends remaining in their pockets would be enough to break Jack out of whatever prison he'd been dragged off to.

Jack. Ianto pushed down the wave of anxiety that threatened to knock him off his feet. Jack had bought them time to escape. Jack trusted him to keep the others safe until they could figure a way out of this mess. Ianto had seen the plea in Jack's eyes to obey him, even though he knew it hurt. And so he watched impotently from a distance as his Captain was bound to the back of a beast and driven away. 

Ianto shivered. The air was biting, further proof – as if the second moon rising wasn't enough – that they were no longer on Earth. It had been a fine night when they'd set out on the Rift alert. The scent of Spring had been on the air. Here winter seemed to loom. The trees were bare and signs of life were few. He heard no bird song, no insect noises. It was as if the land was in waiting.

Still there had to be a city around some place. The patrols that hunted them were composed of professional soldiers not poorly trained rabble. They were hard beings that attacked with precision. It was only luck and Jack's sacrifice that had saved them from capture. 

Ianto called on his celluloid heroes to give him strength, and did his best to project a sense of confidence he didn't really feel as he guided the others through a jagged outcropping of rocks. It was with some relief that he saw the narrow space grow into more comfortable proportions. They'd lucked into a proper cavern. 

"They didn't take everything useful." Felicity sounded pleased, and a moment later the hard, white beam of a pen torch cut a path through the gloom. "It goes back quite a ways." The beam winked out and darkness descended once more. They shuffled carefully as their eyes adjusted. Felicity took point, flicking her torch on just long enough for them to inspect the next ten feet of ground for rocks or other impediments before she shut it off again to conserve the battery. 

"What's happened?" It was Stuart's soft Glaswegian that broke the silence when they finally reached the back of the cavern, raising the question that no doubt they all wanted to ask, but until that moment hadn't had the time. "Is this the Rift? Has it taken us?" 

Ianto shook his head. Now that they'd achieved a temporary safe haven he was suddenly too tired to speak. 

The blackness wasn't absolute, phosphorescent moss lined the walls giving at least the illusion of light. He could see Stuart's face. The look of anxiety in his eyes that was barely hidden under his mask of professionalism. Ianto had little doubt that to the others he appeared the same.

The beam of light that had first pinned them, and then transported them was far removed from the howling chaos of the Rift. It suggested an intelligent mind was at work. Though for what purpose, it was too early to say. 

"Taken yes," Ianto said grimly. "But not by the Rift." 

"By what then?" Stuart persisted. "Who would want us?"

"Dunno." During Ianto's tenure at Torchwood Three he'd been subject to his share of threats. Aliens who swore someday they'd get even for having their fun ruined or their plans thwarted. Occasionally, when he was in a morose mood, Jack hinted darkly about vows of retribution for his past misdeeds. They'd work out the motive for their kidnapping eventually. If they survived. At the moment they had more pressing problems. "Is anyone injured?" 

Felicity shared his stoic nature, and unless prodded would quietly tend any wounds that she could manage on her own unless made to report. During the ambush Ianto had received cuts and scrapes and a throbbing shoulder from where he'd been struck by the blunt end of a heavy, pike-like weapon. He'd noticed Stuart limping as he'd shepherded the other operative into the safety of the cavern. 

"I took a thump to the knee," Stuart said. "It's sore. It feels like it's swelling." 

"I took some knocks, but I'm on my feet." Felicity's attention was already on Stuart, prodding at his left knee and earning a hiss of pain in reply. "Strained the ligaments. I can't rule out a tear without a scan, but I think you'll be all right. You just need to keep the weight off it for a bit. Let me have your tie." 

Ianto lent Stuart his arm and helped him sit with his back braced against the cavern wall. He watched as Felicity used the tie to create a makeshift brace and felt very far from home. 

"Anything to report?" Felicity glanced at him as she worked. In the glow of the moss, her fair hair shone pale green. 

Ianto shook his head. "A couple of cuts. A few bruises. Nothing worse." He removed his shredded jacket and presented his arm for inspection. The skin was broken in a pair of long, thin lines where one of their attackers had struck lucky, tagging him twice with a wickedly sharp blade before he'd been able to launch a counter attack and then dodge away. He was grateful for the protection his layers had afforded, although he regretted the damage to his suit.

"We were on a ship, weren't we?" Felicity patted her pockets. Unlike the rest of the new field agents who followed Ianto's example and wore suits, the medic generally chose clothing that reflected both her medical and military training. Tonight she wore sand-coloured cargo trousers and from one of the pockets she extracted a handful of small sachets. "I remember metal walls and the sound of engines vibrating. Before everything went black again, I mean." 

"Let's reconstruct the last few hours." Ianto kept his voice level even though he felt far from calm and the disinfectant Felicity was applying stung madly. "There was a call out. A Rift alert in Grangetown." 

"Andy wasn't feeling well, so I volunteered to go in his place," Felicity interjected. "Stuart, you were already in the garage because you were restocking the SUV that had been on the call out earlier. The Captain tagged along, even though he wasn't on the rota, because he said he felt like getting some air." 

"Right," Stuart said, taking up the reconstruction. "We got to the scene. The energy reading came from those recycling bins. There was a box. A grey box, about two foot square." He mimed the configuration of their find. "It had readouts and lights, but there wasn't any power coming off it. Ianto went for the containment carrier." 

"The Captain had it in his hands when the light show started," Felicity said. "I remember being dazzled, it was so bright after the gloom of the alleyway." 

"Then nothing until the metal room," Ianto said. It was as if a switch had been flicked in his brain. No sights. No sounds. A total absence of input until the world had been switched back on. He had come to on a silver floor that thrummed under his cheek, only adding to his disorientation.

"Jack said something about transmat sickness and tried to help us."

He had felt as if his stomach was trying to claw its way up his throat. Nausea overwhelmed him. He remembered the moans of the others. He remembered Jack's hands guiding his until together they found the pressure points on his wrists and pressed until the queasy feeling began to dissipate. Just as it seemed he might survive the sheer awfulness of regaining consciousness, everything had gone black again. 

"Transmat, like a transporter," Stuart said. "Beamed through space onto another planet. Because no way is this Earth." 

"What we thought was a ship must have been a relay point." Ianto searched his memories of Jack's countless stories. He'd mentioned transmat networks one night when they'd been watching a film, saying the writers had got it half right. When Ianto had prodded, Jack explained how there were space stations whose purpose was to act as relay points, pushing cargo and sometimes people out to areas of the galaxy that weren't suitable for conventional space travel. "We were bounced, like a sack of letters, from Earth to where ever we are now." 

'I didn't recognise any of the constellations," Felicity said. "Not that there was much time for stargazing." 

"Me neither." Stuart sounded disappointed about that. 

"Didn't recognise the aliens that attacked us, either," Ianto added dourly. 

"So what do we do now?" Stuart asked as he pulled his mobile out of his jacket pocket. He poked at the buttons and reported dejectedly. "No signal." 

No surprise, Ianto thought, but he kept his expression impassive. He took a breath and considered. They needed to find Jack. They needed to get themselves out of hostile territory. He crept to the mouth of the cavern and peered out. There were lights on the road, another patrol. They were searching, but the searchers efforts seemed half-hearted. The beams from their lanterns cut across the landscape at random intervals rather than methodically as they had done earlier.

Gathering his courage, he slipped quietly from rock, to fallen tree, to rise in the earth, keeping well out of sight as he moved away from the cavern. He found a hillock where he could watch in reasonable safety. In the distance there were lights strung out at the sort of interval that suggested a fortification. 

The road that had carried Jack away was wide and seemed well travelled even if it had been deserted on their arrival. If the lights were a town or settlement it was possible they could sneak their way in under the cover of legitimate travellers. Once inside, they could figure out where the prisoners were kept and liberate Jack. 

It was a good plan. It made sense. They needed time to rest and recover from being wrenched through space and beaten by hostile natives. But that didn't stop Ianto from feeling like he was wasting precious time as he slunk back to the cavern to report his findings.

***

Jack hurt. Considering he'd taken a great deal of punishment during his capture and followed it up with a painful and pointless interrogation, he supposed it was probably inevitable. He felt every one of his cuts and bruises acutely as they throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

There was stone under his cheek. Cool stone that felt soothing against his bruised and lacerated skin. Of course given the stink of the place – it smelled as if people had been living and dying in its confines for generations – he was probably running the risk of infecting his wounds, which would give him something else horrible to look forward to. With a pain-filled sigh, Jack pushed himself upright. 

His head swam. The room spun as his brain tried to decide which way was supposed to be up. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, which thankfully wasn't broken, and eventually he was able to sit without being in danger of pitching over. 

The cell had stone walls, as well as a stone floor. The door, to continue the tired motif, was solid looking and made of metal. There was a small hatch in the upper part that presumably was at face height, and a slot down in the bottom that was likely used for food trays. There was at least a latrine and not a bucket or a pile of straw in the far corner. Benches lined two walls. One of them, Jack was mildly surprised to find, was occupied. 

"What are you in for?" he asked his cellmate. He didn't get an answer, so he tried again in Galactic Standard. 

The being, bipedal, but not especially human-shaped, cowered into itself. Given his reception so far, Jack supposed that wasn't an unfriendly response, just one of self preservation. He tried again. "My name is Jack. What's yours?"

The being's head snapped up and it held its shoulders rigidly as if at attention. "This besa is not worthy of individual designation," it replied, as if by rote. As soon as it finished it dropped its head back against its chest and went back to cowering.

_Besa_ was Galactic Standard for _scum_.

The short conversation gave him two vital pieces of information. The first was Jack and his team had been transported in space, but probably not very far, if at all, in time. He had used a flavour of Standard that was common in the rest of the galaxy during Earth's 21st century and his cellmate had no difficulty understanding him.

The second, its reply, explained the bizarre interrogation. It wasn't his past catching up with him. The whip and truncheon bearing thug didn't give a rat's ass who he was or what name he called himself. Not really. It was the first step in breaking him and turning him into one more drone, like his hapless cellmate, as devoid of will as a cog in a machine.

Given standard operating procedure in these circumstances, and depending on the technological level of his captors, he could look forward to more beatings, deprivation, possibly drugging to make him more pliable and complacent, and a great deal of shouting to drive the message home. 

"Yippee," Jack muttered sourly. His head still ached, and pangs of hunger were starting to besiege his stomach. He shivered from cold. Not a huge surprise, he was naked save for his wrist-strap. Under the circumstances, he would have rather they left him his coat. Its heavy wool would have warded away the chill. Plus, there was a Mars Bar in one of the pockets along with a few other potentially useful odds and ends. 

Out of habit, Jack opened the face piece of his wrist-strap and glanced at the display. He played with the controls for a few minutes and realised with a growing sense of dismay that the Swiss Army knife they'd confiscated would have been of more use. Despite its decidedly low tech ambiance, there was a serious level of shielding protecting the complex. Escape wasn't going to be easy.

With a sigh, Jack climbed first to his knees and then to his feet. His head swam again and he swayed with his eyes shut until the feeling subsided. Two strides had him leaning against the cell door where he squinted through the grill. All he saw was the door of the cell opposite built into another stone wall. All he heard was the piteous cries and moans of the other prisoners, and the occasional harsh retort of 'Shut up, besa' from one of the guards. It looked like there was nothing to do but wait.

***

Ianto woke feeling better rested, but not particularly refreshed. The ground had been hard and cold, and in the few hours he'd slept his injuries had stiffened until he felt a vestige of what it must be like to be old and arthritic, something he doubted he'd ever experience first hand. He rubbed at gritty eyes and tried to work up a mouthful of spit to take the foul taste from his mouth. Stuart approached, his limp noticeable, with something cupped in his hands. He held it out to Ianto. "Here, this might help."

He peered into the gloom at a plastic bag cut at the sides and folded over onto itself. "Water? Where did you find it?"

"Felicity said it was something they used to do in the desert. Trapping the mist." 

Ianto tipped the first mouthful over his lips and held it there to savour the sweetness as he blessed their medic's resourceful nature. Reluctantly, he swallowed before handing the bag back, careful not to spill its remaining contents. 

Stuart shook his head. "That's yours. I've had my share." 

"Thank you." He took another sip, knowing unless they struck very lucky it would be a while before there was more. He looked around the cavern. There was a spill of pale light illuminating the first ten feet or so but no sign of their medic. "Where is Felicity?" 

Stuart glanced outward beyond the mouth of the cavern. "Out on a reccy. She should be back soon." 

Ianto nodded. What she'd done was risky, but they needed information, and if he'd been awake, he'd have done it himself. "I saw lights in the distance last night. Maybe a city. There doesn't seem to be much else around. I'm guessing it's where they've taken Jack." 

A few minutes later they heard the soft crunch of gravel. Ianto tilted his head sharply, indicating a retreat, and they melted into the shadowy depths of the cavern. 

"It's all right," Felicity called softly. "It's just me." 

Ianto let out his breath and willed his heart to stop hammering against his ribs. Felicity's face was set in grim lines as she began to report. 

"The good news is that it's a trade road. It's wall to wall carts and wagons headed north." 

"And the bad news?" Ianto asked, anticipating all sorts of likely difficulties.

"There's all sorts out there, but none of them are even remotely human looking. We're going to stand out like sore thumbs." 

Jack said humans were like cockroaches, they showed up in all kinds of unlikely places. Unfortunately, where ever they'd been marooned seemed to be the exception to the rule. "Brilliant." Ianto put his hand to his forehead and stared at the ground, wondering how they were going to bluff their way into the city.

to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

***

The ace Jack had up his sleeve was this wasn't the first time he'd been a prisoner. As a young man he'd done time in everything from local hoosgows to prisoner of war camps. The better ones, the ones where the citizenry believed in rehabilitation rather than punishment, were a dawdle. A few times when he'd been down on his luck, he'd deliberately broken some minor law just for the luxury of a warm bed and hot meal. The clean clothes and showers, even if sometimes they were bracingly cold and stunk of disinfectant, were just icing on the cake.

Nothing that he had seen so far suggested this was one of those sorts of prisons. Where ever he was, it had all the hallmarks of one of the bad kinds. The ones where the guards were liberal with punishment and stingy with comforts. He'd been in those sorts of prisons too, though not by choice. There would be no fatherly chats from the warden. No occupational rehabilitation. Just opportunities to test his pain threshold and reminders of how to deal with privation.

He'd been there for hours and they'd yet to feed him or replace his clothing with the anticipated shapeless uniform. There had been no disinfectant bath, which would have left him feeling slightly sticky and stinking in a different way, but at least unlikely to spread infectious disease. Thinking of baths made Jack realise he was beginning to itch. He could stand a wash, even if it was nothing more than a wipe down with a damp cloth, but they didn't waste water in the toilet, and they hadn't given them any to drink either. 

The itching in his scalp was getting to be unbearable. Jack ran his fingers through his hair and then pressed his palm against his scalp, rubbing methodically. Something scurried past his index finger. With a moue of disgust, he pursued the source and trapped a wiggling _thing_ between his fingertips.

There was a soft crackling noise as Jack crushed the life from the tiny, segmented carapace. He flung it away in disgust and then rubbed his fingers against the bench. He brushed fitfully at his scalp, looking for others of its kind, but came up empty as the crawling sensation intensified and spread all over his body.

He was being bitten, over and over again. Pinpricks of fire were setting his skin ablaze in a way he'd hoped never to experience again. He shut his eyes, bit back a scream, and took a long shuddering breath instead. He batted at his chest, but nothing warm or wet made his fingers sticky.

He took another unsteady breath and then another and forced his eyes open. He looked at his hand and found it free of insects or blood. His gaze travelled up along his arms and down his legs, inspecting every inch of skin. Other than the damage he'd sustained during the beating and far too much dirt for his liking, there was nothing to see.

It had been one hapless insect, not an infestation. He wasn't covered in stealthapedes. It had been a flashback. "Great," Jack muttered, not in Galactic Standard, but in English. "Just what I need." His heart still trip-hammered against his ribs, but he was no longer in danger of hyperventilating as he leaned his head against the wall and ruminated.

He'd never been that big on insects to begin with, but ever since he'd let himself be used as a venom collection vessel bugs of all sorts made him edgy. For a brief time he'd considered purchasing a Madagascar hissing cockroach as a pet, desensitizing his fear by enforced familiarity, but that idea had been vetoed by Ianto, who knew he would end up the creature's likely keeper. So instead, he'd shoved the anxiety to the back of his mind where it could keep company with the rest of the things that kept him up at night, and done his best to not think about it.

It seemed an age, but was probably only a few minutes, when Jack determined his heart and breathing had returned to normal. He glanced over at his cellmate, but the other being had its back to him. It was curled in on itself, as if anticipating blows that hadn't fallen yet but were sure to come, sound asleep, and seemed to have missed out on his meltdown completely.

Jack sighed. He hated what he was about to do. It did his conscience no good, but this was definitely a situation where ethics needed to be put aside. He had an eternity to beat himself up later over his moral failings. 

In the hours since his arrival he had used every technique in his arsenal to build a sense of trust and engage his cellmate in conversation. Kindness only made the other being more nervous and caused it to withdraw further into itself. It had been conditioned to respond to the guards' harsh treatment, and that left him little recourse but to resort to their techniques to gather information.

He rose, and with one last surreptitious inspection to make sure there were no more insects – phantom or otherwise – crawling over him, straightened to his full height. "Besa!" He barked the word in a harsh tone he thought he'd never be forced to use again. "On your feet!" 

Jack finally got a good look at his cellmate. He was a foot taller than it was, which made looming menacingly easy, but the alien, even in its wasted condition, was broader. It look as if once it had been a physically impressive specimen, back in the days when it had access to regular meals.

Memories from a life before he was Jack Harkness flooded over him as he regarded the alien with a cold and cruel expression. That helped, Jack realised, because he could pretend later that he wasn't the one who had lowered himself to the level of his captors. He cursed the hapless being's parentage as he considered his line of questioning.

Pressing close to invade its personal space – or what would have been its personal space if it were human – Jack got a nose full of noisome fumes for his reward. The alien's skin was covered by a fine pelt that was matted with so much dirt it looked as grey as the cell walls. Its head was shaped like a lumpy brick. Its eyes, all six of them, were downcast as it trembled at his harsh tone. 

"State the location!" Jack barked.

"Rosgathrell," it whimpered in reply. 

Jack hadn't ever heard of the place. He didn't know if that was the city where they were incarcerated, or the name of the planet. 

"Galactic coordinates?" he persisted.

The creature darted a quick, uncomprehending glance at him before its eyes returned to the floor. Because it was expected of him, Jack slapped its face, releasing his frustration in a blow that didn't so much land with a ring as a thump. He wanted to sigh and to apologise, but he did neither. Rosgathrell was probably the name of the city. Time to try again.

"Why are you here?"

"To serve the Superiors. In whatever humble way I may."

The alien's reply was delivered in a rote manner, as if it had been beaten into it. Indeed, it cringed as if anticipating a blow. Perhaps the Superiors were picky about inflection as well as prompt responses to their questions. 

It was time to try a new tack. "What was your crime?" 

"Existing." The alien shrank into itself as if it expected that meagre privilege to be revoked any second.

Once again, he gave the cringing alien a thump for no other reason than it was expected. "Get out of my sight," Jack added cruelly, before turning away. The alien retreated to the far corner of the cell and curled against the wall. 

Other than making himself sick at heart and gaining confidence in his belief that the only reason the fuzzy alien shared the cell was to serve as an example of what their captors expected from their prisoners, he had gained nothing. Feeling utterly exhausted, Jack sank to the bench and rested his head against his knees, conscious of the soft sobs coming from the other side of the cell. Whether they were because death had been withheld or denied, it was impossible to say.

***

It took them three days to reach the gates of the city and now that they had arrived, it was hard not to be disappointed. They'd struck out cautiously, paralleling the roadway as best as they could without risking exposure. Felicity took point, as she had the most experience under hostile conditions. Ianto became the rear guard. They kept Stuart between them. He did his best to keep up, but it was clear their dogged pace and the rough ground was doing his injured knee no favours. It seemed like the patrols were everywhere, and they spent long frustrating hours flat on their bellies or pressed against trees or shelves of rock, waiting for the searchers to pass.

In that time, there had been no fires for warmth against the increasingly bitter nights, and little food. Stuart produced a packet of almonds, and Felicity had half a dozen boiled sweets. They portioned them out equally, but the meagre ration did little to quiet their grumbling stomachs, and there was little satisfaction to be had from chewing dead grass and sucking on pebbles.

As they travelled, they debated the why of their kidnap, discounting theory after theory. They speculated if Jack had been deliberately targeted, and they had been collateral casualties, or by taking a Torchwood team, someone was trying to make a point. There was merit for both arguments, though Ianto didn’t really have an opinion either way. To him, it didn’t matter. What did matter was getting Jack back, preferably without getting captured themselves first, and getting home.

The pale yellow sun was beginning its descent as they huddled behind the remains of a lightning blasted tree and watched as cart after wagon stopped at the inspection station before it was allowed to pass into the city proper. The passengers were interrogated. Sentries prodded among the goods piled in bundles and boxes. As each wagon or cart, or party of foot travellers passed through the stone archway, Ianto became more disheartened. 

"We need a diversion." 

Ianto nodded absently at Felicity's declaration. He'd reached the same conclusion. The city appeared to have one entrance, the road they were watching, and one exit, a paralleling road about half a mile a way. The high stone wall that surrounded the city was, as far as they could determine, unbroken by additional portals. Guards were everywhere. Worst of all, Felicity's initial observation still seemed to be correct. There were no humanoid races among those trafficking the road.

The only encouraging observation they'd made was some of the conversations that carried on the breeze were in contemporary Galactic Standard. The trading language was common throughout the known worlds, but it evolved every few hundred years as the boundaries changed, until it could scarcely be called the same tongue at all. None of them were especially conversant in any flavour of the mishmash language, but all of them could be polite and ask simple questions in the current variant. 

"Let's double back. I think I've got the beginning of an idea," Ianto said, leading the others back they way they’d come.

It seemed there were rules about what was allowed inside the city. It also seemed the prohibited goods included items that the traders and other travellers were reluctant to make their journeys without. Someone had made a concession for the situation and an amnesty zone had been created a short distance before the inspection queue. It had the air of a marketplace around it. There was a collection of tents and stalls, some more permanent looking than others, and a lively trade in contraband – principally small knives and other potentially dangerous items – flourished. In addition, there were food vendors, latrines, and a place where the beasts could be rested and watered. 

Backtracking was a laborious process, but it couldn’t be helped, and Ianto gritted his teeth as he contemplated the lost time. Eventually they arrived at their destination and resumed their surveillance, watching the locals going about their business from the cover of a thicket of thorny shrubs.

Ianto tipped his head towards a cart hitched to a pair of draft beasts. "I'm going to steal that and disrupt the queue. That should distract the guards. You and Stuart use the diversion to hitch a lift. Get through the gates and into the city. Find the garrison or jail, where ever they likely took Jack." He shrugged. "Chances are, one way or another, I'll end up there too." 

Felicity looked less than convinced, and Ianto, though he knew she had a point, was prepared to make it an order if necessary. Their discussion was curtailed by the sound of screaming beasts and shouts of dismay. 

Ianto nearly tumbled over as Felicity yanked on his arm. "Stuart!" she hissed. "That idiot!" 

Ianto would have agreed, but what was done, was done, and he was too busy running, although he did spare a thought for Stuart's innate understanding of crowd mechanics and how to use them to create disorder. The jostling, bustling throng was turning into a riot as Stuart stampeded animals and destroyed property. 

"Wagon!" Felicity pointed at a covered conveyance ahead of them. They leapt for it, shifting and ultimately dumping a heavy bolt of fabric out the back and hiding it under another cart to make way for their bodies. They spooned close in the confines of the tiny space. Ianto buried his head against Felicity's neck and squeezed her hand as outside, guards shouted and attempted to restore order. Tense seconds ticked by. The air became progressively more stuffy and hard to breathe. 

There was air, Ianto told himself as his heart began to hammer against his ribcage. It was just dusty and slow to refresh because the wagon was crowded with rolls and rolls of cloth and other trade goods and covered to keep the road dust off the cargo. If he kept his inhalations and exhalations calm and regular he would not suffocate. There was no reason to panic. He was not going to die.

"Ianto," Felicity hissed. "My hand. Ease up. You're hurting me." 

"Oh God. Sorry! Sorry!" He tried. He really did. But his fingers wouldn't uncurl. He attempted to catch his breath, but it would no longer come at all. 

"Ianto?" Felicity worked her fingers free, and as the wagon finally began to move, snaked her arm around and against his chest. "What's wrong?" 

"Claus –" His ability to inflate his lungs failed. They felt like they were trapped by iron bands. He was six again and back in a tailor's storeroom. His father had brought him to work as a treat, but Ianto had got bored and fidgety. Finally one of the shop boys had taken pity and suggested a game of hide and seek.

Hiding amongst the soft goods had seemed a brilliant idea until someone pulled a roll of suiting off the shelf and his hiding place had collapsed on top of him, crushing the air from his lungs. His arms had been too spindly to shift the heavy bolts of fabric more than a few inches and the atmosphere had become quickly smothering.

Ianto used the last of his air to squeak like a frightened mouse and Toby the shop boy had pulled him free, given him a cuff on the ear, and then promised an entire bag of toffee if he didn't tell his tad about the accident.

"Christ. Don't you dare pass out on me." She pinched him. Whether it was deliberate, or because her motions were restricted, it was his nipple that she tweaked, and he gasped in surprise. 

The air was far from sweet, but the sense of relief that flooded him was. 

"Breathe with me. I'll count it out. Ready?"

No longer lost in his memory of the tailor's shop, Ianto became hyper-aware of his current surroundings instead. Felicity's breasts pressed against his back as her chest expanded. He felt their warmth and heft. She had lovely breasts, the sort that seemed like they’d fit nicely cupped in his hand, although she never went out of her way to emphasise them. If anything, her practical clothes did more to arouse his interest than the blatant displays he rarely paid attention to any more. 

Ianto knew his diversion was completely inappropriate under any circumstances, especially one so dire, and he pressed his lips tightly together against a stream of nonsensical apologies for his unseemly train of thought.

He forced himself to pay attention to her voice instead. Felicity was counting. Timing their breathing. Ianto made himself listen to the soft, precise enunciation of each word as she counted. She had been born in Wales, although she had spent little time there. Now, under pressure, he caught the faintest hint of a northern inflection. Gradually his libidinous musings faded.

"– When I squeeze your hand, exhale." She squeezed, and very slowly as the pressure against his palm eased, he emptied his lungs. "How is that?" 

His heart was still hammering in his chest. "Again?" he gasped.

The wagon rolled closer to the gates as Ianto forced his lungs to fill with dusty air again.

***

The gruel, when it was finally shoved through the slot in the door on a pair of metal trays, was pale, milky-yellow stuff, thin textured where it wasn't punctuated by gritty lumps. It smelled both burnt and soured, as if it had sat long forgotten in the cooking pot. Jack sighed and used his fingers to spoon it into his mouth. It tasted as bad as he anticipated and he was forced to swallow hard to get it down his throat.

His cellmate had no difficulty, taking its own portion and scuttling off back to its corner before huddling over the tray greedily and making a variety of slurping noises that suggested no noisome moral was going uneaten. Jack tried a second bite, but as hungry as he was, he just couldn't do it. He shoved the tray down the bench and hoped the gesture would be appreciated. 

The alien, who Jack hadn't had much contact with since he'd attempted to interrogate it, looked up at him with suspicion in its eyes. He made what he hoped was an encouraging gesture and spoke softly in Galactic Standard. "Take it. I'm not hungry." 

He didn't need to repeat himself. All six of the alien's eyes widened and its face bristled in what Jack supposed was delight. It didn't speak. It just grabbed the tray and began to eat, making more repulsive slurping sounds. When it finished and returned the trays to rest in front of the door, they were both polished clean. 

The alien didn't acknowledge his generosity. It flicked its multi-eyed gaze at him speculatively, and then curled back into its corner.

***

The wagon halted. Muffled voices spoke in harsh tones. At last. They'd reached the gate and the final inspection point. Ianto felt Felicity tense against him. They both held their breaths. Ianto shut his eyes tightly and prayed to anyone who would listen as the tarpaulin that covered the load was pulled back and the rolls of cloth around them shifted.

The movement brought a new wave of anxiety. The next moments would determine their success or failure of breaching the city walls. But it also brought fresh air, and those few stolen lungfuls were bliss. Felicity seemed to feel the same. He could feel her hand on his urging caution as well as her deliberate intake of breath which dissuaded him from gulping air, despite his desperate desire to purge his lungs.

The guards grumbled. The driver thanked them effusively for being so conscientious in their duties. There was a faint clinking sound. Coins changing hands, Ianto thought dourly, and filed the information away. If they could obtain coin, perhaps they could buy a guard and their freedom. At last the tarpaulin was replaced and the wagon rolled forward again.

***

It was the most audacious thing Stuart had done in his life, crawling onto the back of the dusky orange beast and digging his heels into its sides. The creature had reared up on its hind legs in surprise and he was certain that the diversion he'd planned was going to be too short to do any good at all. But luck, for once in his life, had been with him. He'd clutched at the coarse burnt umber mane tight enough to make his knuckles pop and he'd held his seat as the beast bolted, first through a tent, and then into a crowd of milling travellers.

Considering its size, the creature was surprisingly light on its hooves. It danced on its back feet and pranced on the front, spooking smaller animals and aliens alike. The longer he held his seat the more Stuart gained confidence he didn't know he possessed, and his heart surged with new-found hope. 

Large animals scared the hell out of him. The only reason he'd taken the initiative and substituted himself for Ianto was because his knee was troubling him more than he'd let on and he was sure he was holding his teammates behind. Both of them were younger and fitter than he was. Both, despite their relative youth, were used to operating under hostile conditions. Stuart had his share of trials by fire since he'd joined Torchwood – life in Cardiff was far more hazardous than it had been in Glasgow – but he knew his limits and this time he was sure he wouldn't measure up. 

He was surprised as anybody to evade guards and beast handlers. His pursuers scattered under his mount's feet like ninepins. The guards at the gate had been too stunned to react. He was halfway through before one of them had the sense to try and block the portal. 

The beast's hooves clattered on the flagstones. It shrieked a high, whinnying cry and took a great leap and seconds later they were bounding down a wide cobblestone road. Acting without a plan and trusting the animal's instincts, Stuart let his steed have its head until they were well clear of the main square.

The beast, its sides heaving from its mad flight, slowed first to trot and then to a walk as they found themselves in a less populated quarter of the city. Feeling far too visible, Stuart slid down the sweating hide and onto the ground, grabbing onto a meaty flank to hold himself up as his knees threatened to buckle.

He swayed as the great animal moved away, scenting water or perhaps others of its kind. Exhausted, Stuart traded the animal for a dusty alleyway wall, sinking to the ground as he melted into the shadows. He'd breached the city gate, but alone and without a plan, he was at a loss as to what to do next.

***

Blind and trapped, Ianto forced himself to concentrate not on Felicity, but on the changing sounds coming from outside the wagon. The driver kept a leisurely pace, calling out an occasional greeting, or in one case a curse that was punctuated by a sharp tug on the reins and a child-like shriek that was followed closely by more adult sounds of dismay.

By his internal clock it was some forty minutes later when their progress halted. There was the sound of a gate hinge squealing open and the slow progress began again. 

"Now what do we do?" Felicity whispered. 

Ianto shook his head. He listened hard, hoping to pick up some clue to their location and circumstances. There had been no sounds of greeting. No footsteps running up to the cart. The wagon springs groaned as the driver dismounted. They waited with bated breaths as the minutes ticked by. Cautiously, Ianto wiggled backwards out of their hiding space and crouched close to the wagon. He looked around. It was dark, and there was the hint of rain on the air that after the dusty confines of their hiding place was incredibly sweet. He tapped Felicity's boot and kept watch as she crawled out to join him. 

They were in a barn. The sturdy looking draft beasts were still in their traces which meant either the stop was temporary, or the driver needed a break before it tended to either its animals or its cargo. Either way, they needed to get out of sight before it returned. 

Ianto no longer felt elderly. After the long jostling wagon ride he felt ancient. Felicity was in no better shape. She was doing her best to stretch her muscles back into fighting nick as she did a quick prowl of the stalls and tack room. 

The rise and fall of voices, a sliding, sibilant rustle of incomprehensible words in the yard beyond, made Ianto's heart race anew. His gaze darted around the building and back to the wagon again. He came to a decision as Felicity called his name. 

"Up here." She was already ascending into the hayloft. The voices outside grew even closer. He snatched the smallest bolt of fabric he could manage free of the wagon and grabbed a tool that had a rasp-like face and a sharp point that was probably meant for trimming hooves. With a furtive glance at the door he unwrapped several lengths off the roll, cut it free, and then shoved the roll back into place. 

They were nearly upon him. Despite his stiff muscles, Ianto scrambled up the ladder carrying his ill gotten booty with him. When he reached the top, there was no sign of Felicity. He looked closer at a mound of straw and watched as it shifted and settled.

Wasting no time, Ianto followed her lead, pushing his way into a loose mound far away from the edge of the loft, and (he hoped) least likely to get a pitchfork stuck into it when the groom bedded the animals down for the night. The barn door creaked. Voices, the words pitched in a grumbling tone although the words themselves were incomprehensible, filtered into the loft.

Ianto imagined himself very small and inconspicuous and prayed he would be unnoticed. The straw was much less dusty and much more comfortable then the bed of fabric rolls had been and he was very tired. Despite his intention to remain vigilant, within moments he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

His life began to settle into a routine. At random intervals Jack was dragged from his cell, shouted at, beaten within an inch of his life because he wouldn't call himself _besa_ and instead offered rude comments about the guards' personal habits, and then dragged back to his cell again. Frankly, he found it monotonous, but there weren't many choices on offer, and it did pass the time.

In between beatings he alternately worried about Ianto and his team and pried nuggets of information out of his cellmate. The offering of gruel seemed to break the ice. Or at least crack its surface. The old Harkness charm worked a little of its magic as well, although it was tough love the other prisoner responded to rather than any kindness he attempted. 

Jack was still forced to bark his questions. And he was still forced to follow them up with a thump if the replies didn't come quickly enough. He puzzled about that as he shook off the effects of another beating and decided that it was his cellmate's way of staying within the boundaries of its comfort zone. The fuzzy alien wanted to talk, but he was so used to having the answers walloped out of him, he couldn't respond any other way. 

The poor being's name was lost to cruelty, but Jack couldn't make himself refer to it as 'scum'. It looked a little like a six eyed hearthrug in need of a good hoovering, but it was a sentient being and Jack thought it ought to have a proper name. He decided to call it Henry. 

"All right, Henry. On your feet." 

Henry snapped to. Jack got to his feet as well. It was an expected part of the charade, but getting more difficult with each beating and missed meal. 

"Previous work assignment." It was incredibly difficult to get Henry talking about life before the cells. The first several times he'd tried, Henry insisted it'd had no home and no family. It had nothing other than what the Superiors had provided; four stone walls and the occasional pan of rancid gruel. 

"Sir. Kitchen worker. Sir."

"Where?"

Henry hesitated. Jack gave it a cursory smack across the face. "Answer!"

"Sir! Rosgathrell Internment Centre. Sir." 

Jack's eyes widened in surprise. This was better than he hoped. He thumped Henry's shoulder. "State your crime."

"Sir. Stealing food from the garbage. Sir."

The cell door rattled, cutting off Jack's train of thought. He swore. Henry was really starting to open up. 

The guard didn't seem at all pleased. 

"On your feet!" it roared at Jack. 

Jack was already on his feet. The guard had the IQ of a goldfish, but it was a mean SOB with a long chain of kill circles that nearly rivalled the Chief Inquisitor's. What it really meant was it wanted him to stand to attention with his hands interlaced over his head, the better to make his body vulnerable to core strikes. For once, Jack didn't want to provoke the guards, he wanted them to go away so he could continue his chat with Henry. He assumed the position without comment.

Next to him, Henry was already at attention. It was trying to stand as still as possible, but tremors rode over its body like tiny seismic shocks. The guard pulled a weapon off its belt and levelled it. "Your sentence is terminated." An energy pulse whined and Henry dropped to the ground. 

Jack stared for a second in pure disbelief before he screamed, "No!"

Henry made proper eye contact for the first and last time as it crumbled to its knees. Jack collapsed right along beside it, numb with shock and outrage as Henry sighed and then spoke in a clear, though pain-filled voice.

"Ni-besa."

Not scum. 

"Ni-Enry."

Not 'Henry'.

"Ta-Alberana." 

I am Alberana.

Jack smiled even as tears rolled down his cheeks. "At least you got your name back." He glared contemptuously at the guards. "You couldn't keep that in the end." 

The guard kicked Jack hard in the stomach, sending him down onto the stones, and then pinned his head to the floor with its boot as Henry's body was dragged out of the cell. 

"Take it to waste disposal," the lead guard instructed its second. "Dump it on the heap with the rest of the garbage." 

_So concludes the lesson,_ Jack thought mournfully as the door to his cell slammed shut.

To be concluded...


	3. Chapter 3

***

Stuart cursed softly as he stared at the twin moon banner with dismay. He'd seen it before nearly an hour earlier. Somehow he'd got turned around and doubled back on his path.

With a sigh, he chose a new direction and started again. He was well over the novelty of finding himself on an alien planet. He'd been disappointed to learn that _alien_ didn't necessarily translate to _high tech_ only _different_. Different people. Different culture. Different language. 

They'd spoken Galactic Standard along the travellers' road, and for a brief while he had considered using his meagre knowledge to ask for help. But in the shabby quarter of the city where the beast had dumped him they used a different tongue, and it seemed to him that the voices he heard were raised in anger rather than good will. His instincts told him a stranger wouldn't be welcome among them. 

He scratched at his ear and then pulled the hood of his stolen cloak up higher to conceal his face. The garment's fabric was faded, and the pattern had weathered until it was an indistinct mottling of pale blues and greens. It was made for someone much broader, although not much taller. Its heavy folds added bulk to his profile and made him less conspicuous as he furtively explored the city whose name, he'd learnt, was Rosgathrell. 

The cloak was tattered from long use and many times mended. Its owner had been down on its luck and it seemed without friends. Stuart had tripped over the poor soul in an alleyway whilst looking for somewhere to shelter for the night. Robbing the dead was a horrible crime, but under the circumstances, he felt he had little choice. The dead no longer needed to be protected from suspicious eyes or frigid air and he did. He felt a stab of regret that the beggar hadn’t a few coins or a crust of whatever they used for bread, and immediately felt shamed. Hunger was making him desperate. He’d be picking pockets soon. 

He heard the persistent plink plonk of water falling and looked up to see the mouth of a collection pipe dripping into a barrel. Thirsty beyond bearing, he considered the cleanliness of the ramshackle dwellings on which it had first fallen and then scooped a bare mouthful, hoping it wouldn't sicken him, as he paused to reconsider his observations.

Even though he'd walked for what seemed like miles, Stuart still couldn't decide if the local authorities were of the sort that would want to loom over their citizenry, and thus put the prison somewhere near the city centre, or if they were the type to be mysterious, choosing some far corner from which rumours of untold horrors would spread to keep the people in line. Which ever it was, he needed to find his way out of the slums and back to the trading district. There, he at least had a fighting chance of picking up a rumour or some gossip in a language he understood. Plucking up his determination, Stuart began to pick his way through the trash strewn streets once more.

***

Ianto awoke completely disorientated. He had been dreaming of Jack. They were in a large, comfortable room, in a large comfortable bed, feeding one another chocolate dipped strawberries. The fantasy was so divorced from his current circumstances he was forced to bite back a sob of disappointment when reality finally settled in.

He was freezing cold, despite the insulating layers of straw. He was so hungry his belly felt as if it was rubbing against his spine. And there was no way Jack, for all his superhero-like qualities, was about to come bounding up into the loft with hot food and even hotter ideas about how they could keep warm. They were still lost. Jack was still alone and imprisoned. And it was still Ianto's responsibility to find him so they could all go home. 

He had no idea how long he'd slept. The clock in his head was still set for a twenty-four hour cycle, and he hadn’t looked at his watch since the day before. He listened hard and heard nothing but the sounds of sleeping beasts. No light shone through the slats of the barn's timbers. Cautiously, Ianto crept his way to Felicity's side and touched her shoulder. 

Her arm came up, hand wrapped around a broken piece of wood punctuated with a jagged edge. If he'd been leaning directly over her it would have torn open his throat. Ianto gulped, thankful he'd learned to be cautious around combat veterans. Sleeping with Jack had taught him about the persistence of wartime habits. He’d noticed since they’d been out in the field that Felicity had picked up a few less pleasant ones of her own.

She blinked rapidly several times, glanced at the improvised weapon, and dropped it at her side before running her hand through her closely shorn hair and over her face. Finally she looked up at him. "Sorry." 

Ianto could only guess at what sort of experience would force someone to develop such a lethal manner of waking. He gave her a very tiny smile, one to suggest he understood, if not the specifics, than at least the generalities, of her reaction. "Not a problem. We need to get moving." 

There was relief in Felicity's eyes, enough for Ianto to make an educated guess about the source of her trauma. He felt a new wave of guilt over his thoughts when they'd been trapped in the wagon and was forced to turn away. He covered his reaction by crawling to the edge of the loft and looking over the side. All was quiet. He swung his legs onto the ladder and descended, getting his first good look at the space since they'd entered. 

It was a barn, close enough in its design and function to seem like any other he'd seen on Earth, and a forlorn sense of longing for home brought a lump to his throat. He swallowed it down and more closely examined the sturdy draft animals drowsing in their stalls. No one would mistake them for Welsh ponies. Unless, of course, that person had been hybridising those ponies with rhinoceroses, and then spray painted them orange out of spite.

The animals had been fed and watered. In some of the feed bins there were still lumpy piles of mashed grain and pieces of some sort of fruit. 

"How sick do you suppose we'll get?" Ianto asked as he held up a slice of sticky red flesh. Felicity didn't reply. She was busy cupping water out of a bucket with her hand. Ianto shrugged. They really couldn't afford to be picky. If he was going to die it would be after a last meal. He ignored the querulous grumbling of the draft beast and scooped up its breakfast with his fingers. The mash was tangy and the fruit was sweet, and if he had a bellyache later, it would be worth the pain.

He slaked his thirst as Felicity had done, ignoring the probability that the draft beast whose rations they were sharing had likely slobbered into the bucket. When his stomach no longer cramped against itself, Ianto climbed the loft ladder and retrieved the items he'd stolen the night before.

"Protective cover?" Felicity surmised.

"Of a sort." He held the fabric up in front of his body and then hers and used the hoof knife to make a series of nicks at the edge. He tore two thin strips and then divided the rest of the dun and silver mottled cloth into two pieces. Checking his measurements, he turned each square on the diagonal and then slashed each of the pieces twice. "Try that on for size." 

"Like this?" Felicity stuck her arms through the holes and drew the corner well over her head. Ianto cut more holes in the fabric and then wove one of the thinner strips through the gaps, and tied it loosely under her chin. 

"Not my best work," Ianto conceded. "But unless you've got a couple of suture kits in your pocket, it will have to do."

Felicity patted at her pockets and then shrugged. Evidently there were limits to what she kept tucked away. "Sorry." 

With her help, Ianto was soon similarly attired. Once he had Felicity's nod of approval, he gestured towards the doorway. "Ready?" 

Felicity nodded and they stole into the shadows.

***

When the hinge on the lower hatch creaked and a feed tray was pushed through, it came as a surprise. Jack glanced at the tray and decided to ignore it. He was beyond hunger and it didn't seem to be worth his effort.

After the execution they'd left him alone. They'd also dropped the cell into pitch darkness, closing the little view port so that not even a sliver of light shone through. He'd tried to make the best of it, closing his eyes and embracing the dark, giving sway to his exhaustion. But his sleep was far from restful. In his dreams he watched Henry's death over and over. Each time the scene repeated Jack found a new way to berate himself for not acting, for not finding a way to intercede and draw the punishment onto himself. 

In the darkness, his hearing became hyper-acute. Each time one of the other prisoners screamed or moaned, or called out in a tongue he didn't recognise but understood any way – because cries for mercy or release sounded the same in all languages – it was Henry's – No, Jack mentally corrected, Alberana's voice. He owed the alien the duty of remembering its proper name. Soon, after they'd decided he'd stewed enough, his captor's would begin his punishments again, and Jack's broken cry would join the chorus. 

The guard's sneering voice echoed loudly in his head as a new iteration of the death scene ended. Jack gasped loudly and sat up, his chest heaving. The stunning obviousness of the plan staggered him and he stared blankly into space as he absorbed the idea.

***

They called it the Citadel of Justice. It was a large stone edifice surrounded by a spiked metal fence, and it was located at the heart of the city. Stuart stared, impressed despite his desire to feel disgust. Everything about it, from the architecture to the shining body armour worn by the guards, was meant to command respect and obedience.

He wasn't alone in his impression. The foot traffic in this sector of the city was calm and orderly. Nobody jostled or pushed. No one spoke in a tone more boisterous than a whisper. In fact, it seemed that no one wanted to do anything that might draw attention to themselves at all. 

Stuart followed the locals' example as he surreptitiously reconnoitred. There was no way he was going in the front gate unless he gave himself up, which meant he needed to find some other means. He withdrew to a safer distance and considered practicalities. The complex was huge. Assuming he'd correctly translated the snatches of conversation he'd understood, there were courts and advocacy offices as well as the detention centre.

By their mode of dress and demeanour it seemed likely the people that went through the front gates were either officers of the court or other high ranking employees. That meant if this was anything like the courts he knew, prisoners, petitioners, and less lofty workers probably had their own ways into the complex. In short, there had to be one or more other ways in. 

His musing was interrupted as an unsettled feeling crawled up his spine. As a police detective Stuart had spent many long boring hours on surveillance, but being one of the watchers had a side effect. It had bred into him an instinct for knowing when his cover had been blown and he, in turn, was being watched. When he felt the hairs stand on the back of his neck Stuart knew eyes were upon him. 

He glanced around without appearing to do so and saw the two uniformed guards stalking towards him. He took a step backwards and then a second, looking for an opportunity. He saw it as a burly gentleperson clad in a colourful peach and turquoise cloak, its arms laden with bundles and scrolls, scurried his direction. Stuart muttered an apology and then tripped it. 

Its burdens flew, scattering every which way. He turned on his heel and, ignoring the pain in his knee, ran flat out with the shouts of his pursuers ringing in his ears. He ducked between a pair of vendors setting up shop for the day. Their wares, some kind of hot pastry, tumbled into a fragrant heap onto the cobbles.

Starved, he'd not eaten anything of substance since they'd made planet fall, Stuart dipped down and snatched his breakfast before it could be trod on by passersby, and bolted out of the main square.

He turned a corner and slowed to a stroll, paralleling the justice centre at a distance for some minutes before he finally halted, completely exhausted. He stopped to eat his ill-gotten meal under the barren branches of a large tree, and watched as less prestigious looking clerks and officials were checked as they reported for work. Stuart grinned. His close call with the guards had led him to another entrance. He arranged his cloak around him more comfortably and settled in to look for holes in the security.

***

Felicity pulled her makeshift hood close over her face as she paused and scanned the square. They'd been on the move for what felt like hours, arriving in the commerce district as the sun rose. The area had stirred to life around them as the shadows of night retreated.

They'd listened to the vendors and merchants murmur sleepy sounding greetings to one another and call instructions to their assistants. No one paid any notice to two strangers threading their way through the hustle and bustle of a new trading day. 

She glanced over at Ianto. His command of Galactic Standard was more comprehensive than hers, and he was listening with great interest to a gossiping pair of young sounding, six-eyed, pink furred aliens. 

A cold gust of wind sent banners and flags whipping in its wake. Felicity burrowed deeper into her cloak, careful not to pull its bulky folds too close against her body and thus ruin the protective illusion that she was as broad as the beings that bustled around them. A piece of paper tumbled across the cobbles and came to rest against her foot. Out of habit, Felicity picked it up and frowned as she translated the notice. They were fugitives and warrants had been issued for their arrest. 

Ianto faded towards her and tilted his head to indicate they should fall back behind a row of market stalls. She pressed the page into his hands. He swore as he read the notice for himself and then shrugged philosophically. "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised." 

Not for the first time, Felicity was impressed by Ianto's cool demeanour. He had a remarkable gift for taking what life handed him and dealing with it without fuss or bother. Though she'd come close to attacking him in the hayloft, he'd merely raised an eyebrow and carried on without comment, as if avoiding assault was part of his normal wake up routine. 

It made her wonder what sort of life their Captain had endured if his bedmate needed to be so wary, but she was grateful for his caution all the same. She would have never forgiven herself if an old, (and she thought) no longer traumatic upset had cost her friend and teammate his life. 

The touch of Ianto's hand drew Felicity out of her memories. She let him tug her forward and down an alleyway. "We need to go this way. We're getting close."

***

The lights were blinding when they flooded the cell, and for long moments Jack found himself stunned. Before he could blink his vision clear, his arms were grabbed roughly and wrenched behind his back and shackles were snapped over his wrists. A brutal shove sent him reeling backwards against the bench and he watched with streaming eyes as his feet were bound as well. The guard hauled Jack to his feet by his hair and pushed him out into the corridor.

"That was really uncalled for." He glared at the guard and got a whack with a truncheon for his cheek before he was goaded forward. 

His nemesis was waiting. Jack grinned insolently as the guards dumped him at the High Inquisitor's feet, chained him to a ring in the floor, and gave him a parting kick for good measure.

It wasn't easy. His legs trembled and his knees screamed their protest, but he clambered to his feet and regarded the High Inquisitor with his brightest smile before stalking forward as gracefully as his bonds would allow. "Listen, Gruesome," he began in a genial tone. "We've played this scene, and I gotta tell you, your technique – " He shook his head sympathetically and sucked his teeth in dismay. "Confidentially … it could really use some work." 

The High Inquisitor stared at him, too stunned to do anything more. Clearly persistent displays of resistance were something of a novelty. 

He shrugged and took another step forward. The chain tugged at his ankle, adding another pain to be ignored as Jack continued to goad his foe. "Sure, you're quick with a whip. But application, Baby, that's what it's all about." He winked for good measure. 

The High Inquisitor roared and yanked a mace-like weapon from its cradle on the wall behind him. It tapped the spiked head against a mitt-like palm as a truly ugly grimace split its face to reveal sharpened canines. Jack trembled but held his ground as the High Inquisitor advanced and the mace flew.

The strike was meant to knock the leer off his face. He dropped his chin just in time to save his teeth and felt his nose snap instead. Blood poured down his face, but he kept smiling even as a second blow brought him to his knees. The High Inquisitor's arm drew back for a third strike.

He regained his feet only to be knocked off them again as the spiked head of the mace tore into his throat and crushed his windpipe. Slow strangulation was a lousy way to die, but Jack welcomed the feeling of claustrophobia as his airway collapsed and the world went black.

***

Ianto folded his arms over his chest and stared up at the so called justice centre. He regarded the stern guards, the high walls, and the sombre expressions of the beings that passed through the portal dispassionately, forcing down his almost primal urge to storm the fortifications and find Jack. "Care to be arrested?" he asked Felicity. Ianto suspected his genial tone was inappropriate, but he really didn't have a good lock on his emotions.

She gave him a sharp look in return. "Not particularly." 

He turned his face away from a pair of patrolling guards and puffed out his cloak to increase the size of his profile. At his elbow, Felicity did the same, and together they walked casually past another _Wanted_ poster. 

Somebody whistled the opening bars of _God Save the Queen_. Felicity nudged his arm and tipped her head. "Thank God," she whispered as Stuart stepped out from behind a tree. He was wearing a worn and tattered cloak. Its proportions were voluminous, clearly at one point it had belonged to a local. It was hard not to grin as they regarded the Scotsman. 

"I was wondering when you two would show up." Stuart was grinning too. He bounced on his toes and then remembered their vulnerability and his expression sobered. "Come on, I've got us a hidey hole." 

Though he was tired and hungry, Ianto walked with a lighter step, that was until he saw the back of the prison complex. A dispirited crew of what appeared to be trustees were half-heartedly loading garbage onto a wagon. A guard flicked a whip from time to time, for no good reason other than to keep the insects from settling. Even from their vantage point an unwholesome smell lay heavy on the air. 

"It's that way, or no way," Stuart said. "I've been watching this place for hours and short of getting arrested ourselves, that's our best bet." 

"Shit." Felicity uttered the oath at the same time he did, and Ianto found himself inappropriately amused. The moment of levity failed him as the wagon rolled forward and he got a better look at its contents.

He stared, not believing his eyes. "That's a foot! A human foot! Oh God. Jack!" he exclaimed, conscious that he was running and the others were following, hissing cautions that fell on deaf ears. 

Desperately, his glance raked over the landscape seeking an impromptu weapon. A builder's supply cart was queued to enter the yard as the wagon containing Jack's body exited the gated compound.

Ianto grabbed up a length of heavy metal pipe, and was mildly surprised to find it fit his hand surprisingly well. He swung it madly as the guards scrambled to pull their truncheons, and heard a whooping female battle cry coming from behind him as he swung the pipe at the wagon driver, unseating him. Ianto leapt onto the bench and shoved the driver onto the street as he grabbed the reins. 

"Get a move on!" he yelled. A moment later the springs groaned harshly as Felicity and Stuart clambered onto the sideboards. Ianto heard their disgusted curses as they fought for more secure positions on top of the mounds of refuse. 

Pedestrians scattered for their lives as Ianto whipped the wagon away from the justice centre. He glanced over his shoulders and saw the guards picking themselves up off the cobblestones and haring after them. 

He drove on and finally the guards' shouts faded only to be replaced by the annoyed and puzzled exclamations of startled citizens trying to go about their daily business. Taking a shaking breath, Ianto pulled the reins back sharply until their speed dropped to a less unseemly trot. When they entered a more lightly populated district, he slowed to a dignified walk. After turning one last corner and finding himself in a shabby neighbourhood, he reined the beasts to a halt. 

Unmindful of the stench, Ianto did the one thing he'd wanted since he'd first caught sight of Jack's body. He scramble onto the back of the cart and pulled it into his arms. "Help me. He shouldn't come back – " He waved a hand at the stinking contents. 

Stuart paused in his dismount, hanging half over the side as he stared at a twin moon banner displayed on a building opposite the mouth of the alleyway. "Hang on, I know this district." 

"Do you?" Felicity asked as she hit the cobbles with a thump and then moved around to help Ianto with Jack.

"I should." Stuart's expression was wry as he added, "I got lost twice the last time I was here. There's a quiet patch back this way."

With Stuart leading, they struggled down a shadowy mews. Ianto felt a tremor under his fingers and searched Jack's body for signs of his return. He shifted his grip and his fingers came to rest over Jack's wrist. He caught the first feeble throb of a pulse. "Could you give us a few minutes?"

Obligingly, the others took up sentry positions a discreet distance away.

Jack's corpse was in a piteous state, smeared with blood and filth and bits of refuse from the wagon. Ianto didn't care. After days of living rough he hardly smelt of roses. He brushed away the worst of the mess, regretting his inability to do more.

 _Once this is over,_ he silently promised Jack. _Once we are free and safe, I'll make sure we go somewhere lush. We can put this whole miserable time behind us. Anything you want. I'll make sure you get it._

He pressed a kiss against Jack's temple, ignoring the stain of dried blood, and gathered him close. They couldn't afford to draw attention to themselves and Jack's resurrections tended to be noisy as life flooded back into his body. Figuring one more layer of dirt would scarcely make a difference, Ianto lay back onto the cobblestones, dragging the body with him. He spooned close, gathering Jack's face against his chest so that he could muffle any screams. 

"Come home, Jack," Ianto whispered against a deaf ear. "Come back to me." He tightened his grip, waiting as interminable seconds crawled by. He could hear the soft voices, but not the words, of the others; Stuart's Glasgow lilt and Felicity's answering reply. He could guess the substance of the conversation. Jack's immortality would always be a subject of speculation. Of wonder. Of pity as someone grasped the true significance of eternal life. 

Jack gasped. His muscles strained and his sinews stretched as they struggled to cope with the flood of energy surging through them. He grasped at Ianto, hands locking painfully down against his spine and hip. Though there would be bruises in the morning, Ianto ignored the pain. He cupped Jack's head close against his chest as fresh tremors shook them both, whispering soft, soothing noises of welcome. 

"Ianto?" 

Ianto closed his eyes, offering a silent prayer of thanksgiving at the plaintive sound of his name. "I'm here, Jack. I'm here. Rest a moment," he added, although he knew tarrying was risky and they should be on the move. He let a minute pass and then two. Jack's breathing no longer came in harsh gasps, so he asked, "How are you feeling?"

Jack gave him a cocky grin. His eyes seemed impossibly blue. "I'm naked and you have your arms around me. My day's looking better by the minute."

"Cheeky monkey," Ianto answered fondly. "Get up." He flicked the shell of Jack's ear with his fingertips affectionately, and offered a hand to help him sit. "What happened to your clothes?"

Jack peeled a bit of something black and sticky off his forearm. "Confiscated at the prison." He gave Ianto a disconsolate look. "They took my coat." 

"I'll get you another," he replied as he stripped off his cloak. "Put that over you." Ianto looked down at Jack's bare feet and shook his head. "We'll have to improvise something." 

Felicity cleared her throat, reminding Ianto that he and Jack were not alone. He clambered to his feet and then extended his hand, savouring the warmth of Jack's palm in his. Jack regained his feet, and as he had done many times before, seemed to mentally push away his own discomforts before regarding his team. "Somebody want to fill me in?"

Ianto exchanged a glance with his teammates and then shrugged at Jack. "Kidnapped. Dumped on a hostile alien planet. We traced you to this place, which seems to be a garrison town. Got separated. Found each other. Stole your body off a garbage wagon." He shrugged again. "I think that covers it."

"But ... why? Why did they want us in the first place?" Stuart asked.

Jack shook his head. "I dunno."

"You were incarcerated," Felicity said. "Didn't they give you an explanation?"

Jack shook his head again. "The High Inquisitor liked to shout a lot, but I wasn't interrogated as much as used as a punch bag. As dungeon masters go, he seemed pretty tense. I started to get the impression he was using our sessions for stress relief."

"We can work it out later," Ianto said. Jack had been tortured and he was making light of it. He knew it was a coping mechanism, but that didn't make him feel any better knowing how much Jack had probably suffered. "For whatever reason, we're wanted. I read one of the posters they put out. They were offering the release of a family member in exchange for our capture. We can't rely on the kindness of strangers. We need to get out of the city. We need to get off of this planet. And we need to do it now." 

"Got any ideas?" Jack asked.

There was something about Jack's voice. It held an odd combination of mirth and pride. Ianto felt a right pillock. It was once thing to make a ringing pronouncement. It was something else entirely to come up with a plan. He sighed, deflated, and knew this was why he would always be the loyal batsman to Jack's heroic Captain. "No, sir. But I dare say you do." 

Jack ignored his sarcasm. He had the workings of his wrist strap exposed and was prodding at the controls. "Do you know the cool thing about transmat relay stations?" he asked as he poked a sequence of buttons. 

"They have the rare gift of letting you experience your stomach crawling out your oesophagus?" Stuart suggested as the rest of them shuffled their feet.

Jack grinned, well pleased with himself, and shook his head. "Nah. That platform needed its transducer modulator aligned. Normally, you hardly notice the transition. No, it's all relay stations have an SOS circuit. Send the code and Whoosh!" 

Jack punched a final sequence of buttons and the world went black.

***

His brain was floating free inside his skull doing lazy loops. Jack groaned. As soon as everything quit spinning he was going to have to have a word or six with the maintenance crew chief. Even if this wasn't a passenger station, no transmat ride should ever be that rough.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes. He could make no sense of the field of white that met his gaze and so he shut them again. Several slow breaths later, he made a second attempt. His eyes were in better focus and he made out the dull grey metal supports of a collapsible tent. He was flat on his back and there was tarmac underneath him, but it was cushioned by layers of clothing. He extended an arm in front of his face and saw the sleeve of his beloved RAF greatcoat. 

"Jack?" Ianto's voice was nearby, and question filled. 

He became conscious of other voices. Familiar, comforting ones. The sounds of his team at work.

"Easy there, Captain. Give yourself a minute to reorientate."

The warm and cheerful voice of Sean O'Neal the medical examiner was like a welcome home. Still, Jack wondered what he was doing there. He let the other man give him a hand up, and blinked the scene the rest of the way into focus. 

They were in a tent. The temporary structure had been erected to keep prying eyes to a minimum. There was a containment box on the ground near Ianto. Mark was kneeling near the device they'd recovered, taking a series of readings and dictating notes into a headset. Dev and Andy were helping Stuart and Felicity as O'Neal went to check on Ianto. 

"Somebody report." Jack felt like hell, but he was still the Captain, and for at least a little while longer, he needed to act like it. 

"When you didn't answer your comms I rustled Mark and Dev out of the lab and we came looking," Andy said. "We found you out cold. Mark said it was down to that gizmo there." He tipped his thumb towards the box. 

"I didn't know what to do, sir," Dev said, cutting in over Andy. "There was an energy field connecting you to each other and the box. The new quack might as well be on the moon, Flat Holm is so far away, so I called Dr O'Neal." 

"We couldn't find an override, and it didn't seem safe to move you whilst you were interfaced to the machine," Mark added. "So we cordoned off the area and settled in to wait."

Jack examined the box. It looked like a piece of test gear, which is what he'd taken it for when they'd arrived on scene. "How long?"

Mark glanced at his watch. "About four hours."

"What do you remember?" Andy asked. He'd put a supporting arm around Felicity and was helping her hold a water bottle steady as she took a series of small sips.

"We were on another planet," Felicity explained as she handed the bottle back to Andy. "The Captain had been arrested. We were being hunted." 

"We had to live rough, with nothing but our wits," Stuart added as he tore into the energy bar Dev handed him. His eyes closed in bliss as he chewed. "It was too horrible to be a game. I've never been so scared. Do you suppose it was some kind of test?"

"Like a virtual reality training exercise?" Mark speculated. 

They were asking good questions. His new team always asked good questions. Jack was proud of how well they had handled the situation, working together and calling in extra help when the limit of their experience was exhausted. But right now he still had the memories of torture, deprivation, and death, and even if the experience had been a simulation, it still felt disturbingly real. He could still taste his own blood as it choked him.

"I don't know." Jack glanced wearily at Mark. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the façade of Indomitable Captain. "Is it safe to move it?" His tech nodded back. "Then quarantine it, summarise your initial findings, and let's worry about it tomorrow."

He pulled Felicity and Stuart aside and put a hand against each of their shoulders. He let his pride in their performance, even if it had been part of a simulation, and his concern for their well-being colour his words. "What happened, happened. Even if it was inside our heads. Get yourselves checked out. Let someone take your statements and then have them drive you home. Take as much time off as you need to get your heads around this. As far as I'm concerned, you've earned it."

Jack received a twinned reply of "Thank you, sir." and then he turned away to seek out Ianto. He found him outside, leaning against one of the Range Rovers with his phone pressed to his ear. 

He ended one call and dialled a new number. "Yes, I need a taxi please. I'm at – " He glanced at the street sign and rattled off their location. "Where to? The St David's. Lovely. Party of two gentlemen. We'll be waiting on the corner." 

Ianto regarded him with a hint of amusement in his eyes as he offered his arm. "I don't know about you, Jack, but I feel in need a hot meal and a long bath." 

Jack grinned as a taxi pulled to the kerb and Ianto opened the door for him. His night was definitely looking up.

End


End file.
